Earworm
by Alecto Perdita
Summary: Halloween brings more than trick-or-treating children and teenage pranksters to the town of Kingsmouth. First came the Lady Margaret trailed by fog, then the men in black, and finally—


Written for Andraste on AO3 for Trick or Treat 2014

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><p>"Night, Janet!"<p>

"Good night, Andy!" Deputy Jackson called as he headed toward the door. "Be careful out there, that fog's going to get worse before it gets better."

Andy stood on the threshold of the office entrance, which offered a straight-shot view down Elm Street and out into the bay. On a clear day, he could usually see all the way out to the horizon. But the impenetrable fog flanking the coastline seemed to slowly and inevitably encroach on the land. Like ivy, tendrils of mist climbed lampposts to smother the lights with its faint appendages.

Andy took a deep breath of the frosty air— unseasonably cold even for late October. The chill settled into his lungs and bone-deep, which stayed no matter how many cups of coffee or hot chocolate he had.

Barry in the drunk tank started singing at the top of his lungs. There were no lyrics— just a forlorn tune not to unlike a whale song. His throaty baritone followed Andy into the white night.

-x-x-x-

The song began as an itch in his front lobe and slithered its way out his ear as he woke up. He lied in bed and listened to the hauntingly familiar melody. It reminded him of Dad and the kittens.

But Andy didn't like to think about either of them, so he got up and started to get dressed. The clock in the kitchen, the cat one with the swinging tail that once belonged to his Ma, struck ten as he sat down to his bowl of cereal. Halfway through his Fruit Loops, he realized the world was dead silent except for the song serenading him.

Not even the ocean waves could be heard.

He pulled back the curtains and say met by a wall of white.

"Now that's something you don't see everyday," he muttered to himself. But it explained why there didn't appear to be street traffic.

He hurried through breakfast. It was his day off, but they could probably use the extra hand down at the station on a day like this. Mister Bates drove like it was perpetually night out even on the clearest of days.

His world condensed to a pinhole once he exited the house. The heavy wood door slamming shut with an air of finality. He could hardly see his own hands right in front of his face. Outside, the waves were louder, crashing into the rocks and beach like great hammers. The song was also louder, annoyingly so.

The chill sunk deeper through Andy's bones before settling in the core of his soul. He stared in the direction of the sea. He couldn't actually see it, but he knew where based on sound and the tug at his heart. He blinked and the waves battered against the dock underneath his feet. When had he crossed the street? Visibility improved this close to the sea. He could almost make out the choppy waters and the torso bobbing with the tide. It took him a few seconds before he realized it was a person wading in.

"Mrs. Simmons, what are you doing? It's dangerous!"

She gave no indication of hearing and continued— until the water reached her neck and finally swallowed her whole. Andy gasped, frozen to the dock. He should dive in and save her. He should radio for help. But the water inspired a torrent of nausea and he needed to get away. The song boomed in his ear, but the pitch was lower like a funeral dirge. Andy hastily backed up and collided with something.

It was the biker who came into town not long before the fog first rolled in. Not a bad guy— just a bit intimidating in that general way that all bikers were.

"Moose?"

Moose leaned forward as he spoke, "It's calling me."

He took a step toward the end of the dock and then another step forward.

"No!"

Andy lunged forward and grabbed an arm, but Moose shook him off as if he was a mosquito. In terms of raw strength and muscle, Andy wasn't even in the competition and the last thing he wanted to do was shoot him. But he couldn't let Moose jump in and go under like Mrs. Simmons.

His eyes frantically searched the area he could see, in search of anything that could stop Moose. Moose drew closer and closer to the edge of the dock. Andy grabbed the rope strung around a nearby post. It was thick and strong, the sort used to moor small boats. He looped it around his waist and tied it off with a sturdy sailing knot— some things from Eagle Scouts stayed with you. Moose didn't push him away when he secured the other end of the rope around the man's waist.

Andy stepped around and cupped a hand over each of Moose's ears. That got Moose's attention and he tried to throw Andy off again, but Andy dug his heels in and did his best to block out the song that was no doubt worming its way into Moose's heart.

Then Moose stopped fighting.

Andy moved quickly— away from the water, away from the source of the song. He dragged Moose with him out of the dock, blindly groping their way up the hill and toward the sheriff's office.

-x-x-x-

The fog receded, spitting out a deserted Kingsmouth of empty streets lined with abandoned cars and unlit jack-o-lanterns.

The song died, but Andy was convinced he could still hear echoes of it afterwards.

-x-x-x-

Moose shook his hand heartily and thanked him profusely for saving his life. Andy brushed it off. He was just doing his job— to protect and serve.

He intended to keep doing his job, because he and Moose couldn't be the only survivors out there. They set to work digging through the hollowed husk of his hometown.

Andy discovered Madame Roget in the backroom of her basement shop. He averted his gaze as soon as he realized she had been left naked and handcuffed to the bed. She teased him about how red his face turned and his cheeks burned hotter. But she didn't want to come back to the station like some.

Other surviving townsfolk sought refuge at the sheriff's office though, including Doctor Bannerman. They wandered in disoriented and consumed with grief. The survivors were so few in number and the unaccounted to many to contemplate. Andy started up a census with a heavy heart and tried not to think about the broken families.

Moose stayed, even though he might have made it out on his own. "As long as this heart's beating, I won't let any harm come to you."

Andy didn't think he deserved that type of devotion. It frightened him a bit. Still, Moose stayed and Andy soon found himself glad for his support. Andy was just a deputy. He didn't know if he could hold the town together through this tragedy.

Sheriff Bannerman found her way back three days after the fog, but not before the fish-men came pouring out of the sea and the dead rose to walk the streets.

-x-x-x-

Last week, Andy was scaring the local kids away from the skate park after dark and responding to multiple calls from the Luther home because of Grandma Luther's achy back. None of it had been glamorous, but it didn't make what he did any less necessary.

But then the world went bonkers.

Nowadays, his jurisdiction only extended as far as the chain-link fence around the station. In lieu of patrols, he went on supply runs with Moose. Helen tried to go out once, but he talked her out of it.

Kingsmouth needed her.

On the upside though, the zombie apocalypse meant no more paperwork.

While Helen coordinated their survival from behind her desk, Andy prefered the lookout on the roof. It wasn't a bad view as long as the zombies weren't knocking at the gates. Sometimes, Moose would join him with beer pilfered from the supply room.

Andy watched and waited for the world to right itself again. Moose pointed out that he'd be waiting a long time.

-x-x-x-

Week two into the siege, a stranger marched out from the zombie wasteland and into their camp. As Andy took the box of scavenged bullets offered to him, he couldn't help but notice the fire burning in the stranger's eyes.


End file.
